A Shadow in Her Mind
by Narisia
Summary: A young bosmer girl is invited to join the Dark Brotherhood after a brutal, misconstrued murder in the arena. Can the slippery tongue of a Brotherhood Speaker convince her to join? Lucien, Vicente, and all their problems included.


**A/N: I'm an Oblivion fangirl and it occurred to me not too long ago that this was rather well placed with my attraction to fanfic. One of the most imaginative and inventive factions in Oblivion is the Dark Brotherhood and with so many ideas streaming into my head concerning it I figured I'd give writing a fic a shot. With, of course, quite a bit of limelight given to everyone's favorite Speaker and quite possibly everyone's favorite vamp.**

**Disclaimer: As much as I'd like it to be otherwise, I really don't own a single thing in this fic except everything that wasn't in Oblivion. : )**

Chapter One

A Champion of Flight

With a reluctant squelch the unlucky mudcrab flipped over, its charred remains sizzling pleasantly in the descending evening.

The far banks of the Rumare seemed to have become host to some sort of arthropod sacrificial rite, the blackened corpses of about twenty or so of the scuttling fiends scattered in a circle about a particularly awful looking wood elf.

The elf would have perhaps not looked so terrible had she been a bit tidier. She was rather disheveled, brown locks strewn about haphazardly, smudges of grime and blood on her face, her arena raiment askew, dented, and sprayed with reddish muck. A set of pale feet was submerged into the cooling sand, masking the dried splotches of blood that dotted them. Her pointed chin was propped thoughtfully upon her hands, both large eyes cast balefully upon the massive figure of the Imperial City.

A scuttling sounded from somewhere to the left, and slowly, almost tentatively, a mudcrab sidled into view. The aroma of overcooked seafood hung rank in the air, perhaps sending some signal of foreboding to the intruder, for it picked its way carefully towards the macabre ring. It seemed to inspect a fallen comrade, and, attention averted, hardly felt the bolt of frost that momentarily seared it.

Without glancing over the elf rubbed her hands together, and, apparently weary of the intrusions and subsequent annihilations of the Rumare's mudcrab reserves, plucked her feet from the sand and left the bank quietly.

It had been a very wearying day. That morning she had arrived at the city after a long, foot-borne trip to Crowhaven. The journey to the ramshackle fort had been a pleasant one, and the spritely bosmer had taken her time in exploring the landscape during the trek, scouting the area, securing it. Even the dank exploration of the fort had been somewhat "fun", leaving the girl to practice all manner of stealthy assaults on the resident skeletons who appeared to be a rather unobservant lot. It was, however, during the returning trip when Narisia began to foresee some amount of impending trouble.

The bosmer expressionlessly flicked through the events of the day as she walked, aimlessly wandering as she circled the lake. Having long since unlaced her sandals she walked barefoot, steady and quiet and as unreadable as her mood. Night was heavily on its way, the sky a myriad of silver speckles against an inky and darkening background. The beauty, however, was lost on the girl.

She had spent no time dawdling about once she had returned to the arena. Instead, she had purposefully walked towards Agronak and handed him the diary, the "proof" he had been anxiously awaiting. Her stoic behavior was ordinary; the orc had suspected nothing, and it was with much joy in his voice that he dismissed himself into a corner to read. It was not much longer after his rejoicing that the despair had set in. The battle for the title of Grand Champion took place later that day, though by standards of any sort, it was not much of a fight. Vaguely, Narisia recalled the despondency in the Grey Prince's eyes as he stood there, silently glaring at her to finish the task. The elf had obliged. For the spectators at the arena, it was more a bloodbath than a show.

It was with a start that Narisia realized she was meandering down the Gold road, the silhouette of Skingrad gradually being swallowed up in the darkness behind her. Strangely, she realized, she had met nothing wild, nothing posing any particular harm, on her way as yet… well, she supposed, nothing since the war waged by the crustacean entities. Yes, indeed...the night was strangely empty, the winds hushed and breathing about as if with reverence to a concealed entity, and the silence pronounced to the point of deafening its audience. She shrugged her observations off and continued walking, consumed in sorting out her thoughts.

xxx

The sun had broken and scattered the stars and it had reached nearly midday when the fresh scent of the sea inundated Narisia's senses. As if shaken from a reverie the elf realized that the large city looming in the distance was that of Anvil.

_Have I traveled all this night?_

Her concentration focused on her more immediate self, she realized she was running, she _had _been running, nearly sprinting down the road; her skin glistened with sweat and blood, her armor rubbing her roughly in inconvenient places, the leather slapping at her hips as she ran. As if confronted, the bosmer halted in her tracks.

_I need a plan. What am I going to do? Why am I here?_

She knew, however, why she had chanced traipsing off to Anvil all along; the city's visage was not so surprising after all. It had always been an option in the back of her mind, even before she had signed up to fight in the arena, although the latter had been so much more _appealing._ Indeed, it had become much like a home for Narisia. A secure establishment, a familiar one… even with the promise that each match held the prospect of death, Narisia had felt so much more alive. Each member of her team had held a mutual respect for one another – it was an unseen thread that wound through them all, stitched by a fatal shadow. Narisia recalled as if over a distance the warmth that welled in her chest as she stepped, bloodied and bruised, from the red room, her compatriots offering praise and cheer after each successful match.

They were all successful. Except, perhaps, her last.

With a wave of sickness, she needed to be clean. She needed to find water. It was with a swiftness surpassing that of her midnight run that she circled the stables of Anvil and came upon the beach, darting about until she found a rather obscure spot, situated tidily behind a large boulder that blocked out the view of the harbor. With a relish she dunked her head into the water, thin hands scrubbing furiously at her stark face, the relatively still pool of water turning a grimy rusted color before slowly seeping away.

Narisia resurfaced with a jerk of her head, tossing her hair back with an unceremonious shake to rid it of the water. Her chest heaving, she squeezed out the remaining drenched locks with a determined expression upon her sharply-featured, and now somewhat bright, face, and made for the city.

She decided that she'd not bother with the tavern in town – having been there once before told her the clientele would perhaps be less than pleased to see a blood-stained arena dog waltzing into such an upscale establishment. The Flowing Bowl seemed a likelier choice; they may not particularly care for her hygienic discrepancies but she doubted they'd turn out a customer.

She was fairly correct in her assumptions. It was something of an embellished lean-to, in her opinion, squashed cozily out upon the harbor next to all the other seaside attractions. Inside it was a simple, slightly disorganized tavern, with a beaming bosmer heading the counter. For no real reason, Narisia had always found most of her kind somewhat annoying, with particular emphasis on the males. She plastered on a small smile, and, bumping her way past two surly-looking dockworkers, approached the counter.

"Welcome to The Flowing Bowl. I'm Maenlorn, my twin brother is Cae-"

"You're in brown, he's in blue. I remember," Narisia cut into his excited babble rather early, a lack of sleep somewhat leaving her patience short. As if noting his disappointment, she widened her smile. "I'm sorry… I was here some time ago, I met you then. I doubt you remember."

"Not a problem, not a problem! Welcome, again, to my inn. What can I get for you today?"

Narisia winced. Was he bouncing on his feet? If he was quivering to see a filthy rogue of an elf… business must have been waning, she thought with a smirk. "Well, initially I suppose… some information? I haven't been in this part of the empire for quite some time."

"But of course!"

"Right. There's a Fighter's Guild here in Anvil. Do you know if they are recruiting just now?"

Maenlorn cocked his head in a maddening fashion. "The Fighter's Guild? Well, now, I believe they are – good work, if you have the stones for it. Though you'd have more luck talking to one of the members, I suppose. It's right in the city, in the Guildgate section. Very noticeable, you shouldn't have a problem finding it!"

Though he had told her little more than she already knew, Narisia tossed several septims at him, simultaneously noting a set of stairs to the side. "Maenlorn, right? Do you have a room for the night?"

Maenlorn's face contracted into a deeply sympathetic expression, shaking his head sadly. "No, I'm afraid not. They're been locked up for renovations. Should be open in the future if you're ever back in town!"

She cringed only slightly at the rise in pitch of his voice and bowed her way quickly out of the room. Once on the docks, Narisia inhaled deeply, vacillating almost visibly on the spot.

_Should I go to the guild, then? They'd not turn down a fighter of my caliber. No, most certainly not._

She had nearly turned on her heel, facing the near harbor gates to the city, when another voice of reason sounded off in her head.

_No, perhaps they wouldn't. But the Guild was always my second choice._

_Yes, and now its my only choice._

_Can I be certain?_

_Certainty is out of the window at this point, girl._

_But sleep, that's a solid prospect._

This, Narisia felt, was a compromise between the warring factions of her mind. Sleep. She hadn't accounted for the time she had spent awake over the past few days, ever since arriving at Crowhaven. Tugging on her lip pensively with her teeth, she cast her eyes about. No, sleeping in the city wouldn't do her any good for the moment, at least while she was dressed like a kill. It was warm out, she'd be okay for a few hours.

It took her only a few minutes to relocate the patch of beach she had washed up in before. She spent some time disentangling her body from her filthy light armor, noting with some scorn that the unperceived running from the night before had left nasty red welts along her inner thighs and against her sides. She bit her lip, making a mental note to wash up in fresh water later that day, but it was enough, at present, to be removed of the nuisances – modesty, she felt, had little importance when compared to fatigue. Such was the life of a warrior.

Narisia nestled carefully up to the large boulder that shielded her from view of the harbor folk, turning onto her back to relieve her swollen skin as much as possible while still capturing the warmth of the sun-soaked beach. Her cheek rested comfortably on the throbbing sand, her feet were lapped at coolly by the Abecean sea, and the tired bosmer fell into a rather sound and weary sleep.

xxx

When Narisia awoke, the sky was black. She sat up quietly, the sand beneath her having chilled considerably, her cheek dotted from the tiny grains. It was only after she had rubbed feeling back into her face that her spine tingled forebodingly. Something wasn't right.

As if answering her unfounded intuitions a shadow blotted out the scant illumination that filtered from the distant lighthouse. A silky, stealthy voice sounded. Narisia froze.

"You sleep rather soundly for a murderer."

xxx

**Chapter Notes: I'm contemplating switching to the point of view of Lucien for the next chapter, as opposed to having to deal with POV switches within a chapter. Or, I could keep it in the POV of Narisia and leave it at that, but I feel Lucien would be rather fun. Narisia's issue with the Grey Prince fight will be subsequently explained in the next few chapters.**

**Feedback is definitely appreciated as I've taken some liberties with the interpretations of a few characters so far. That's that for this chapter, in any case.**


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